


Something familliar and old

by giallarhorn



Category: Doctor Who, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:32:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giallarhorn/pseuds/giallarhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten drabbles where Eleven and Rose are together under varying circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something familliar and old

**Author's Note:**

> Written a while ago for anna_sg1 on LJ in response to a drabble meme, with the prompt Eleven/Rose.

**AU**

            “DCI Tyler,” she eyes the man, lanky arms and strange angles and bobbing Adam’s apple right above- _yep_ , a bow tie. “And you are?”

            “The Doctor,” he blinks and as an afterthought, smiles. “DCI Tyler-”

            “Doctor,” Something about him is unsettling. “That’s a title, yeah?”

            “Is a fellow London accent I hear? Pray, do tell, how did a nice London girl like you end up in Strathclyde?”

            “I’d ask why Scotland Yard would send us a man who doesn’t even have a name to help with this case. Cause, well, that doesn’t make much sense, right?”

            “Call me John Smith.”

 

**Tragedy**

            “Doctor.”

            “Yes,” he hadn’t expected anyone to know him here, on this distant and remote planet. “That’s me, and who are- _oh_.”

            He knows the smile and golden hair and _eyes_ that, so long ago on a space station that no longer is, had burned like the sun. She looks past his face and he can read it in hers- _please remember me_. “What are you doing here, Rose?”

            She smiles, faltering hesitation and hope edged by caution. “I’m looking for a man with a blue police box.”

            “But, the other me- Rose, what’s going on?”

            She breathes, “You- _he_ died.”

 

**Angst**

            He remembers the first time he lost Rose, trapping her with the Dalek in a military base so far away from home, trapped in a tomb that no one would ever find.

            He remembers on an impossible planet long ago, standing before the Beast or whatever it was, he had decided in the schemes of gods and Time Lords and fate that she was anything but a victim. 

            But that wasn’t _him_ \- only him the same in the barest sense of plurality- different men, different faces.

            He thought it’d be easier, standing over it.

            There are no markers or tombstones.

 

**First Time**

            Rose _really_ didn’t want to stay after school for the help session. But Jackie had set her foot down after Rose got her marks on the last English History paper and so she waits to finish her next paper. Mickey offered to stay with her, but she wasn’t having him stay behind for her.

            She wonders if there’s anyone coming in when the door opens and a tall, gangly fellow with the most ridiculous hair and outfit ( _bowtie, tweed jacket and suspenders_ ) marches in, and starts talking about how Shakespeare wrote another play ( _Love Labor’s Won, not Lost_ ) and _was_ gay ( _personal experience, trust me_ ) and that Queen Elizabeth was a werewolf and torched a wood.

 

**Hurt/Comfort**

            Rose didn’t realize that trying yoga would result in so much pain as she hobbles back with the Doctor to the TARDIS.

            “I still don’t understand what happened,” the Doctor pushes the door open for her and sits her down on a chair. “You _slipped_ on the mat?”

            “Something like that, yeah.” She watches as he runs around the new console, brilliant with whirling gadgets and lights. “Listen…”

            “Humans. I have no idea how you can be uncoordinated as a bipedal.”

            “Doctor.”

            He tenses. “I’m not him.”

            “I know.” She doesn’t know what she wanted to hear. “But you’re here.”

 

**Crossover**

            She wasn’t too sure what to expect from this client- she knew he was a doctor of some sort, likely medical, so moneyed and maybe right in the middle of an unhappy marriage. But Hannah was the sort of girl who was hard to surprise with the unexpected.

            Yet the man who walked into the bar is the least expected person she’d see. “Oh, terribly sorry there, door handles can be- _Rose_?”

            “Oh, hello.” This isn’t what she had expected. She doesn’t remember his name, only that she shagged him on her day off. “Doing well?”

“Wha-how?”

            “You’re a doctor now?”

            “Yes, I’m the Doctor.”

 

**Fluff**

            They arrive as the sun rises and spend the morning in the city, ice cream melting across her fingers and the Doctor lecturing her on the genera of the flora. She doesn’t understand what he’s saying, but she enjoys the sun on her skin and the scent of the sea.  

Later, she watches him when she doesn’t think he’s looking, because he doesn’t have eyes on the back of his head, yet, not with this regeneration, and looks at the slope of his shoulders and the lines of his face, and she thinks in that unfamiliar form is something familiar.

           

            **Humor**

There is a reason why the TARDIS doesn’t have a proper kitchen, Rose finds.

            It went like this- she heard a deep, sonorous bell sound through the TARDIS and then the Doctor began to yell something intelligible. So then she ran down the corridors yelling his name and then she smelled _it_. _It_ was a deep, charred scent that she recognized from spending years in the kitchen living with Jackie.

            It was the smell of burning food.

            So she finds him staring forlornly in a silent sort of mourning at an oven with a pot filled with green, bubbling goop.

 

**Crack!fic Plot**

            “Rose?” he looks down at his hands- those aren’t his hands. They’re smaller, softer, and more feminine. “Uh.”

            “Doctor?” she coughs and pushes her- no, his body- up. “Was it supposed to be that rough?”

            “Uhhh,” he struggles to his feet and checks the color of his hair. _Blonde_. “I think that something went wrong with the retrieval process.”

            “Why do I feel all weird and…” she stares at him. It’s a tad unsettling to see his own face staring at him. “Doctor? Why can I see my body?”

            “Well now,” he clears her throat. “It’d appear we’ve changed bodies.”

 

**Romance**

            She sits with a napkin clutched in her right hand underneath the table, in a room of ornate statues and glasses brimming with champagne with the other attendees discussing everything from the latest development in hyperspace travel to galactic gossip. He’s to her left, discussing the dynamics of quantum entanglement and she feels a bit out of place.

            But then his hand drifts over hers and his thumb moves in circles.

            But he’s not looking at her- yet his hand sweeps past her, tracing her palm till he finds the pulse on her wrist, and they’re a bit too close but hasn’t it always been like that?


End file.
